


it's alive !

by word_dissociation



Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018)
Genre: Family Bonding, M/M, OC/Canon, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Slow Burn, sort of ? maybe ? medium burn, weird science
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21700885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/word_dissociation/pseuds/word_dissociation
Summary: They’ve been in the Hidden City for about fifteen minutes, and things are not fine.OR: during a hunt for an informant of Big Mama's in the Hidden City, the boys run into an interesting professor for the local yokai university, Dr. Bartholomew North. Donnie, thinking about the future of his academic career, takes an immediate interest; but they've got bigger fish to fry, if their dad will let them.
Relationships: Splinter/Original Male Character, family dynamics with the rest of the turtle team
Comments: 35
Kudos: 44





	1. do you know where your children are ?

**Author's Note:**

> chaboi back at it again with an oc-heavy fic  
> i'll try to update this as much as possible and as quickly as possible, but please be patient. and if you like this, please leave kudos and comment ! thanks !

He’s still trying to get used to waking up before noon. There’ve been mixed results and victories, but today is a good day, because it’s a good two hours before noon. For the most part, the only two who’ve pulled themselves out of bed are Purple, who has likely not even gone to bed yet anyways, or Orange, out of restlessness or to cook breakfast for the team. Splinter, ungroomed and heavy-footed, lumbers out into the main room of the lair to find all is still. After a short trip to the kitchen and a humanity-restoring sip of coffee in his “World’s Best Dad” coffee mug, he decides to live up to the title and go yell at Purple to stop inventing and get some sleep, likely already berated at least twice by one of his brothers. There’s only one problem. Purple’s not in his room.

A quick check shows that none of his children are. This is not so unusual; the boys are always slipping out, to get pizza, play soccer on the rooftops, meet up with April, or go on their little ‘missions’. Splinter has enough faith in them to take care and keep an eye out for one another, especially when April is with them, but it is unusual that they would all be out so early. The tank is gone as well. Probably some kind of mission then.

A note on his chair confirms that, yes, they are out on a secret mission. Splinter tsks to himself and takes a load off, still sipping his coffee. Well, they have their weapons, the tank, each other, and a decent understanding of half the hiding spots in New York. Barring that they’re not in the Hidden City, or something like that, all should be fine.

* * *

They’ve been in the Hidden City for about fifteen minutes, and things are not fine.

Donnie has faith in his brothers, truly. Headstrong, hyper, and annoyingly chatty as they might be, he loves them. They’ve all saved each other’s shells a million times over now. He just, still, really wishes they would stop and think for a few seconds before diving headlong into danger. Give them a day with a shell as soft as his and then see how quickly they become cautious.

It started with Raph-- as it usually does-- charging in “like a boss”. Hidden City missions are supposed to be regarded with the utmost stealth-- because of, well, Big You-Know-Who-- which he knows Raph can do, because he’s seen him do it, even taking his size into consideration. Donnie can think of a hundred ways Raph could maybe use said size to his advantage in more than a blind crushing rampage, but he does love his smashing. Years of honing the skill has made him really good at destroying pinatas, so he supposes that has a decent enough use. Doesn’t get them out of this wild goose chase, though.

Big Mama’s got informants-- and supposedly they’re tentatively on the same side for now, but past, unnecessarily personal betrayals have Donnie trusting that promise as far as he can throw it, and he’s got a great arm, if questionable aim. Anyways, it was just supposed to be a little bit of light kidnapping and interrogation. Just something to even the field a little bit. But for a short, stout, unassuming looking guy, their target is fast, and Raph’s not really built for speed. Mikey’s hotter on the guy’s trail, using his weapon to help him go soaring over fire escapes and through clotheslines, until he gets tangled up in one of those aforementioned clotheslines. Donnie can’t blame him for that. He’s been there.

That leaves him and Leo. He’s on pursuit, flight capabilities of his shell at full thrust, ready to swoop in on the guy when he hears Leo shout “I got this!”, swooshing, and-- yep. He’s crashed headlong into Donnie, falling out of a portal, not aiming low enough to miss him. Donnie goes down, thrusters failing, tail-spinning on the way down as the guy cuts the corner and disappears. At least the spinning has Leo break his fall, but he bites his tongue painfully as his precious tech-bo goes flying out of his hand and skidding down the street. He’s relieved that it stops, until his vision clears of stars and little planets cartoonishly circling his head, and he sees a stranger picking it up from where it lay at their feet.

“Hey, that’s personal property!” Is what he tries to say, blocked by hiss swollen tongue.

The stranger-- older, probably old as Dad, so fairly prehistoric-- looks to be some kind of cat man. One of those bald cats all the smart influencers own. He’s got a simple get up, elbow patches on his jacket, little glasses balanced on his nose. He takes his eyes off Donnie’s tech-bo to the haphazard pile of teens, including Mikey, tangled up, and Raph, trying to pull him loose.

“My word,” He says, bending down to help the two sprawled on the floor. “Are you kids alright?”

Leo’s overcome his windedness enough to accept the help, pulling Donnie up with him. “I think everybody’s in one piece. Guys?”

“We’re good over here,” Raph calls, “Did you get the guy?”

“No,” Donnie and Leo call back, groaning and simultaneous.

“What are you lot doing out of school? Do your parents know you’re playing hooky?”

“Pfft, we don’t go to school,” Leo says, doding the second question entirely.

“Oh, I’m sorry to assume,” The stranger folds his ears back in embarrassment. “Homeschooled?”

“With our dad?” Donnie huffs under his breath. “Yeah right.”

That was the wrong thing to say, because this new stranger looks horrified. “But-- then-- where did you learn to make a thing like this?” He lifts Donnie’s tech-bo back to him.

“I am self-taught, a-thank you.” A pause. “Wait. You could tell this was, uh… home-brewed?”

“Yes, I’ve never seen anything like it. I thought you must be apart of the robotics club-- the local high school’s infamous for it’s robotics club, they’ve won enough prize money to basically keep the school afloat.”

“There’s a school down here?” Raph asks, suddenly joining the circle of conversation, Mikey on his shoulders.

“They have a robotics club?” Donnie echo’s, trying not to balk.

Now the man looks horrified. “Do you… children need me to call someone? You can wait in my office until the right-- people-- come to deal with--”

“No, no, we’re fine. We’re not from around here.” Leo cuts himself, pointing upwards, denoting their surfacetop homebase. The man visibly relaxes at that, just a little.

“Oh. So sorry. You’ll have to forgive me, sometimes I forget we even have… neighbors, as it were.” He looks skyward and grimaces a bit. Then, there’s a beep. The man looks at his watch and nearly jumps. “Oh! So sorry, gentlemen, I’ll have to cut this meeting short-- I have a class, um, here.” He pats himself down, and hands Donnie a card. “Dr. Bartholomew North. Please call this number if you-- well, if you need somebody to call. Alright?”

“Uh. Okay.” And with one more fretful glance, the Doctor is out. Donnie briefly looks over the card. “Huh. Looks like he works at one of the universities here, hm.”

“And he had a business card for that?” Leo says, slinging himself on Donnie’s shoulder to peer down with him.

“We’ll talk about talking to strangers later, you guys, we need to find where I guy went,” Raph cuts in. “Anybody see which way he went?” Resounding silence. “Cuss.”

“Cuss is right,” Donnie agrees. “It took forever to find that guy, I can’t believe he got away.”

“How we gonna find him again?” Mikey says from Raph’s shoulders.

“Guys, relax; how does anybody find informants? By blatantly asking around,” Leo smooths over. “You know what, I bet Boneman knows who he was. Plus, I’m starving.”

“Good thinking Leo!” Raph says. “To the mutant pizza place!”

“We should bring dad back a slice,” Mikey adds. “In case he asks us why we took that thing from his do-not-touch cabinet again.”

“Think he’ll notice?” Leo asks.

“No way,” Donnie scoffs. “I left a decoy. It’s foolproof.”


	2. chasing tail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which splinter actually has to parent this one

The mutant pizza place is bustling tonight, as they make it right in time for the lunch rush. This means that Hueso is even more eager to get them out of his mallow than usual, but the abundance of prying ears, in combination with his irritability, makes him even more tight lipped-- jawed?-- in comparison as well.

“C’mon, Senor, do I have to remind you,” Leo gesture to his brothers, all gathered together, “who your  _ best _ customers are. B-one to the col-lge.”

“You cannot use that excuse forever,” Huseo scowls. “And surely you don’t expect me to snitch. I have very wealthy clients who expect a level of-- discreteness-- from me. Besides, ratting on Big Mama?” A shiver rattles through him.

“Okay, fair,” Leo agrees. “But, counterpoint: don’t you think you could use some leverage? I bet your crime boss buddies would be real interested in some top-dollar information on their biggest competition…”

Huseo looks considering, then shakes his head, shooting Leo away. “No, no no no. I helped you once, and now we are square. Actually, I think it might be  _ you  _ who owes  _ me _ \--”

“Well, good talk, Boneman,” Leo shoves his brothers-- still unsure of what little adventure it was Leo and Huseo got up to that one time, apparently more important than Donnie had thought-- in a metaphorical attempt to gnaw his own leg off out of the conversation. They reconvene at a booth, slumped over and irritated at hitting another wall.

“ _ Psst _ ,” Donnie hears in his ear, and totally doesn’t jump in his seat. “I heard you guys were poking around about a special somebody.”

Turning around, they see it’s Sunita, wearing a pair of cat-eyed sunglasses-- very sharp and mysterious, if Donnie says so himself.

“You know about the guy we’re looking for?” Raph asks.

“I know about lots of people, especially if they’re regulars. Even the crimeful ones. Especially the crimeful ones, actually. They’re kinda rowdy.” Sunita grins and lowers her sunglasses. “Who do you need goopyschmoots on?”

Donnie leans over the booth seat. “Well, we’re looking for a Yokai, about yea high. Pink and kind of bloated, multiple limbs, has sort of a mouth… tube? Sound familiar?”

Sunita gasps. “Oh my gosh! You must be talking about Loose-Lips Lenny! What a coinkydink, it was his birthday last week!” She pushes her sunglasses up to her forehead, leaving slight tracks in the gelatinous form of her face, leaning in all conspicuous. “What do you want to know about him?”

“Know where we might be able to find him?” Leo asks. “If he hangs out anywhere, y’know, other than here. Or the hotel, I’m betting.”

She mulls it over for a while. “Well, he talks about going to the sauna a lot? I don’t know about any mutant saunas topside, but I think the mystic city has some kind of spa place.”

“Back to the mystic city?” Mikey’s non-existent brows draw together. “Can we at least get lunch first? My blood suggies are way to low for another round of goon-wrangling.”

“Okay, okay,” Raph amends. “Pizza first. Then, back to the mystic city. Again.”

* * *

They’ve been in his do-not-touch cabinet. He knows it. He can tell, looking at it, that something is not right.

At first he thought it was because the tea pot was missing, but they he remembers it is, in fact, now apart of an uncontrollable demonic mass of mystic armor, as it had always been. It feels strange to miss it, or even to forget that it’s gone, as he did when he came over to the cabinet to get it in the first place. Maybe the boys will surprise him; maybe for his birthday. All of them will pitch it, and they’ll all argue over whose hand-made card is the best, and Blue will try and fail to shove his face into the cake they made him. That’s creeping up on him, now that he thinks about it. It’ll be nice. Just to throw a party and have fun together as a normal family, and not one who had to fend off a humanity-destroying force of evil. They’ve all taken it in stride, and Splinter doesn’t have to show the crack in his mask of control, certainty, admitted goofiness; not that he can. He’s the adult. Their father. He can, and will, be brave and Perfectly Fine for all of them, so they continue on being kids, despite this hiccup in the semi-sense of normalcy they’ve all gone to making here in the sewers.

But enough about all of that. What’s wrong with his cabinet.

It dawns on him slowly, he almost misses it-- the mystic token that opens up the portal to the hidden city. A cheap decoy, more tape than anything else, and more fool he for almost not noticing. But he’s not that senile yet. This can mean only one thing; the boys have gone to the hidden city, without telling him! More than that, they tried to pull a fast one on him. Their own loving father and sensei! For a moment, he debates on what to do. Wait until they come back to ground them? They’ve come out of the hidden city unscratched, as they all came clean about their involvement with Draxum and Big Mama after the first fiasco with the mystic armor. On the other hand, now Big Mama knows they are, in fact, sons of the mighty Lou Jitsu; and after that stunt Blue pulled… if there’s one thing Splinter learned all throughout their relationship, it’s that she hated to lose. He has faith in his students, in his sons, but this isn’t just a trip to the corner store by themselves or roof soccer. They might actually be in trouble. Oh man, he actually has to parent this one.

There’s only one problem-- how is he supposed to get to the hidden city? They’ve taken his back-and-forth token, and Blue no doubt has his portal sword with him, so that eliminates that object. Land alive, he’s going to have to actually ninja this one  _ too _ ! They are going to get such a stern talking to when he drags them out of whatever clutches they’ve gone and gotten themselves into. But first thing’s first, getting to the city. There are plenty of mystic spots, all tethered to the city in some way. All he has to do is find one, slip in, slip out, and then-- there he is, ready to find his headstrong sons and get everybody back home in one piece.

So he heads his way out of the sewer, cursing all the rungs of the ladder as he goes up, and begins his hunt. That pizza place the boys are so fond off is more topside than the other way around, so that leaves out his first choice. Even though he is pretty hungry. If he weren’t in such a hurry, he’d stop for lunch, but no, now is not the time. After scrounging around he finds some kind of trinket shop, with a laughably easy password to guess, but the storefront employee well not so easily divulge him anymore information about it’s connection with the hidden city. He does point him to the train station, which Splinter awkwardly dances around saying that he can’t go there, because um, er,  _ reasons _ . Then he points some kind of planetarium, which might get him there, but the doorway is kind of janky-- good for yokai to sneak around through, though, seeing as it’s usually less than lit, and humans are always paying attention to the light show. So Splinter forces the guy to give him his phone so he can GPS to the spot, and only after getting turned around once, he finally makes it. Nobody’s there for a show, thankfully, which makes it easy to sneak into and around, looking for the doorway. Splinter does that silly little gesture usually accompanying opening hidden doorways, until finally one opens, and--

And he tumbles down, falling flat on his face.

He picks his head up, finding himself staring at a pair of shiny shoes.

“My word,” Says the stranger the shoes are attached to. “Are you alright, sir?”

“Fine,” Splinter grunts, picking himself up, but then pauses when he notices the hand extended towards him. Not so proud as to reject the extra leverage, he takes it, and pauses for a moment to eye the stranger. One of those hairless cats, a real buttoned up, professor-y type, little glasses and jacket-elbow patches and all. Good bone structure though, he’s gotta say. The cat man raises a curious brow at him.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” He says, looking Splinter up and down, then up and down again. “Are you new to our campus?”

“What? No, sorry, I’m,” Well, thinking he’d seen them would be too easy, but it couldn’t hurt. “I’m looking for my sons. Turtles, there’s a blue one, red--”

“Orange, purple?” The man asks, eyes wide. Huh. Apparently it is that easy.

“You know their names,” Splinter grins. “So, you seen them?”

“I spoke with them just an hour and a half ago,” He says. “You’re their father? I-- see the resemblance. And I’m glad you’re looking for them, the city-- well they seem like boys with good heads on their shoulders, I don’t mean to imply--”

“Yeah, yeah yeah, my sons? Where are they?”

“Well, they didn’t tell me where they were going, but I know where they were! I’d be happy to show you, Mr…”

“Splinter.”

“Bartholomew,” He returns. “Just follow me.”


	3. the half of it

Bartholmew is… well, he’s interesting. Splinter can say that much, half heartedly listening to him talk after it’s obvious that the silence is getting under his skin. Obviously not a parent-- Splinter doesn’t even have to ask, any adult man who doesn’t revel in a few minutes of total silence isn’t used to having rambunctious kids in his house. Besides, it’s not Splinter’s fault if he’s not feeling particularly chatty. He’s looking for his kids in the hidden city; he’s not at his most social.

But Bartholomew, he finds out, is a professor. Professor of biology; great, another science type. Splinter doesn’t want to come off as ignorant-- purple does science, loves the stuff, and for the most part seems to be interested in making things that are useful and not evil-- but the last science type he was with was willing to hurt four innocent baby animals to make super soldiers, and also turned him into a rat, so he thinks it’s fair if he’s not the most open to scientists. Kind of like how some people feel about doctors, he supposes. Splinter notices-- while Bartholomew is espousing about the thrill of Science-- that he keeps a rigidly upright posture, moves his hands along as he talks, emphatic in each gesture, when his hands aren’t locked oh-so pristinely behind his back. Total killjoy too, then. But, whatever, if he has an inkling of where his sons are in this city, than Splinter can suffer a walk with him yammering on about how--

“--Really, with what the city’s become, it’s no wonder so many are finding little nooks and crannies to hide away topside. Do you know what I hear? They’re snatching people right off of the street to participate in that dreadful Battle Nexus! Can you believe that?”

He can. “Not a fan of the Nexus?”

“Heavens, no! Are you?”

“No,” Splinter murmurs, glancing over his shoulder. “But should you be talking about it so loud?”

“Oh, I’m not afraid of that-- excuse me--  _ witch _ . Back in my day you could actually walk down the street and talk about this thing, but ever since they got that  _ human  _ fighter-- and then ever since he disappeared!-- it’s all anyone’s willing to put any money in anymore, to say nothing of city infrastructure, or school funding, or--”

“You… you don’t know?” He’s trying not to sweat now, feeling himself on some kind of indistinct razor’s edge. “He came back.”

Bartholomew simply rolls his eyes. “Oh, good for him.”

“You really didn’t know?” He tries not to sound too baffled, in case that gives him away, somehow. “It was pretty big news-- er, I mean, I just heard it was big news. He was the reigning champion, sooo…”

“As if it were possible for me to care any less,” Bartholomew says. “It’s just more reason for Big Mama to keep her claws around the city. I bet they were in on it together-- some sort of publicity stunt.”

“That’s not fair,” Splinter cuts in. “How do you know he wasn’t in a tough spot? Maybe he made a stupid deal because he couldn’t stop talking but actually knew what he was doing the whole time, because a lot of people back home were riding on him?”

Bartholomew’s brows raise, wrinkles creasing as he blinks.

Splinter’s ears flatten. “Just. Ahem. As a non-specific example.”

“I… guess anything is possible,” He says. “I hope you don’t think me cruel. I just feel so invested-- this has been my home all my life, and-- well, it just pains me to think about all the thugs and maniacs all but running it. That’s why you’re worried about your sons being out here, isn’t it?”

Splinter huffs a heavy sigh. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

* * *

They spend way too much time mapping out mutant spa places. Granted, maybe Donnie’s just a bit grumpy because it’s sort of humid, and he’s way full (without a slice for Pops; but hey, that decoy should hold up, and what dad doesn’t know can’t hurt him), but there’s no good reason there should be so much spa traction down in the hidden city. How many different ways can get slathered in mud and seaweed?

They’ve narrowed it down to two, which means it’s a stakeout. Already impatient, Donnie hopes that this doesn’t take too long, because if it gets too late Pops will start to worry and maybe his flawless decoy won’t hold up so great after all-- which is preposterous, but just… what if, you know? The last time they were out too late, they were grounded… which sucked, but Donnie could kind of see where dad’s head must’ve been at. New York’s great, but it’s also a big bad city, and that strangler is still on the loose…

“Guys,” Donnie hears Mikey whisper, “I think that’s our guy.”

“Oh,” Donnie mumbles. “Convenient.”

Slouchy, pink as a sun-burnt tourist, and all lumpy, the tardigrade mutant they’d been hunting-- Loose-Lips Lenny-- pops the collar of his tropical shirt before heading in. Donnie can appreciate his taste in relaxation wear, but his chosen career is definitely nothing so admirable. Their stakeout had gone stalk out.

Moving out, sneaking through the back exit, the hunt was on for the sauna. Evading staff wasn’t too difficult-- Dad’s lessons had been really paying off lately-- there was finally a door with ‘SAUNA’ written in delicate font, lotus flowers accompanying the lettering. Tasteful, Donnie thought, but back to the matter at hand.

“Okay, so,” He whispered, “We need to make sure the guy doesn’t bolt again, so we should--”

And then there was a bang, the sound of the door being punched in, and the alarmed shouts of other sauna-goers being interrupted and confronted in their little white towels. Lenny took one look at Raph-- who had busted in the door, of course he had-- and scrambled to get out, foregoing his clothes entirely.

_ Yikes _ , Donnie thought, still springing into action. They all surged forwards at the same time to catch him, dogpiling on the guy-- who, steam-soaked and slippery-- wriggled right out of their grasp with ease, and started off as they worked to untangle from each other. Second wild goose chase of the day-- how great. At least the guy was slightly impeded by the need not to be nude on the streets of the Mystic City.

Mikey, being the smallest and used to crawling all around his brothers, started off first. Donnie, then Leo, and Raph after him-- the same thing was going to happen again. Donnie would get out of the building, and free of the constraints of walls, would activate his battleshell’s copter, with the rest on foot, Mikey likely jumping along off roof tops. If any of them had thought to get in the Turtle Tank things would have gone differently, but as it were everyone was too panicked in not letting the guy get away again. How was he so fast? The guy barely seemed to need to take a breath.

Donnie, from the skyline, could see an opening in strategy-- a chance. If they could herd him to a dead end…

“Raph! Go to the right-- have Leo go left! We can trap him!”

Raph nodded from below, and skidded to the right, starting up at his top speed again when turned around. Leo divulged from him, leaving Mikey at the center and Donnie high above, keeping an eye on everything from the airline view. They were gonna do it! They were really going to catch him this ti--

Wait.

The guy, trying to dodge Raph, went down towards where Leo’s line connected. Except there was somebody already down there. Two somebodies. Two way too familiar somebody’s. Lenny went down, tripping over none other than their dad.

“Hey!” Dad rubbed the back of his head as Dr. Bartholomew helped to pick him up. “Watch where you’re going!”

“You watch where you’re going, ya-- uh oh.” Raph and Leo skidded to a halt, seeing dad in the last place they expected him to be.

“Dad?” They both said.

“Boys!”

“Later,” Lenny leap-frogged over Splinter and went off running again. Before Raph and Leo could give chase again, Splinter intercepted them.

“Dad, he’s getting away!” Leo said.

“You can finish your little game later, what are all of you doing down here? Call down your brother, you’re all in hot water.”

“But dad--”

“Now!”

Donnie, sulking, hovers back down to the ground in front of their father, just as Mikey skids to a halt seeing them all in front of dad with their ‘we got caught’ faces on. He falls into line without bothering to ask what happened to the guy they were chasing.

“What were you thinking, coming down to the Mystic City without telling me? Who knows who could’ve gotten to you down here? Big Mama-- Draxum, wherever he is-- and taking things from my Do-Not-Touch Cabinet and trying to fool me-- you!” Splinter takes a deep breath. “You have greatly disappointed me, my sons. And you are all grounded.”

They all give their grumbling, defeated mumble of  _ yes, sir  _ in gruesome cacophony.

“Blue, make a portal. We’re going home.”

Leo, with none of his flair, throws his head back and groans as he cuts a circle to the ground. Splinter shoos all his sons into the circle, but not before turning back to Dr. Bartholomew and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, uh. Thanks, by the way.”

Dr. Bartholomew gives him a sympathetic look, extending his hand. Dad takes it, and they shake. “Of course. Take care now, Mr. Splinter.”

Donnie wants to chew up the card Dr. Bart had given him just from that weird interaction when he gets home alone, but he doesn’t. He leaves it on his bedside table to collect dust.


	4. you may be eligible...

The grounding is actually not so bad; Dad usually can’t stick to any sort of harsh grounding for long. No video games and no going out for a week, but other than that, it’s sort of business as usual at the lair-- mostly the four of them trying not to beat themselves up for losing their informant again, and assuring each other they did a good job and they’ll get ‘im next time. Donnie focuses on inventing mostly, since he can’t go out, putting him on something like radio silence as his brain obsessively hones in on tweaking this and that, making adjustments, carefully arranging wires, calibrating circuit boards, ect ect. His brothers come in to make sure he’s still alive and that he eats, stays hydrated, even shoot the breeze with him as he works-- complaining about how it’s so unfair they were grounded but hey, did you see this meme April made? It’s so funny, put a pause on inventing and look at it, which usually coaxes him into a break where he can turn his brain off for a while, maybe even move his limbs.  
He’s in the middle of upgrading his tech-bo for the millionth time that day when dad comes in to check on him.

“Squinting like that will give you wrinkles,” He says. “Trust me. I would know.”  
  
Donnie makes a casual sound of agreement, focusing still on his work.

“Have you eaten today?”

“Sandwich,” He says. “Raph brought it.”

“And when was--”

“Two hours.”

“Ah. Good.”

There’s a pull of silence, not exactly uncomfortable-- Donnie’s not exactly happy with Splinter right now, but he’s not really mad, that would take up a lot of energy, and brain power, and really “no videogames” is one of the lightest punishments Splinter has in his regiment. Something in one of his parenting books about taking punishment and discipline too seriously, though it bumps up against what Donnie has to assume was probably part of his own upbringing as a fighter or something. Maybe he’d hear more about it if he they had grandparents.

“What’s this?” Splinter asks, and Donnie looks up, expecting to give a short description on a latest invention that Splinter will awkwardly tumble showing interest in. He’s been doing that a little more lately, since their conversation at the derby, which is sort of nice. He knows Splinter doesn’t really “get” his interest in inventing, but the small steps to be more involved in it have not gone unnoticed.

But no. It’s not an invention.

“Oh, Dr. Bart gave us that,” He shrugs one shoulder. “Probably just a tactic to advertise the university.”

“Hmm…” Splinter turns it over in his hand, and then, much like a beaten old lawnmower trying to start. “Are you… thinking about college, Purple?”

“I mean,” He pauses in his work for a moment. “It’s a nice idea, but it’s not like I have… transcripts, or anything. Or a GPA. I don't even think you could call what we did ‘homeschooling'.”

“I see,” Dad says, in that tone he usually takes on when he's about to do one of his ‘I have failed you, My Sons’ speeches. Donnie doesn't want him launching into one of those right now, because he's a teen, and it’s hard when you're fourteen and have to think of your Dad as a person, kind of like you are, because he's… your dad. Donnie likes his dad, which is cool, he’s done half a million things that as to what, Donnie can guess, and thinks maybe he’ll only hear when Pops is on his deathbed, but ‘father’ is as much a different species as it is a generational divide.

“It’s not a big deal,” Donnie starts, and goes back to working, to double prove it’s not. “I’ll start my own school someday. Donatello “Othello Von Ryan” Hamato’s Genius Institute for Technology. It’s a working title.”

That gets Splinter to smile, wrinkles scrunching at the corners of his eyes to show his genuineness. He can still tell there’s that lingering dad-funk, but it’s more good humor. 

“Don’t forget to eat dinner in a few hours, or I’ll be back to bother you.” He says, turning to the exit. “Oh,” he adds. “And you and your brothers are… ungrounded. But make sure you have learned your lesson!”

Donnie smiles as he closes the compartment on his tech-bo. Donnie likes his dad. He's cool. But he’s the biggest softie.

* * *

Splinter sits on his bed, looking the card in his hands over for the nteenth time. It has the name of the university, Central City University, with Professor Bartholomew’s name, cell phone, email, and business hours. It’s well past the listener hour for weekdays, as Splinter gnaws on the inside of his cheek, thumb tracing fine print, still mulling over his conversation with Donatello.  
Splinter has always wanted his children a sense of normalcy; as normal as one can be, what with being a giant mutant turtle… living in the sewers… oh man. It’s a good thing he's not drinking out of his “World’s Best Dad” coffee mug, his reflection in the ceramic surface would be too cruel to bear.

Donatello’s always been the most vocal about his want of schooling; and it makes sense. All his sons have drive, passion, and headstrong energy, but Donatello’s inquisitive nature perhaps hasn't been as… well-nurtured as he thought. There are only so many things one can learn on those educational channels Donnie forces him to watch when he's been a bad excuse for a rat, and he knows Donnie’s seen every rerun of all those shows and least twice by now. And heaven knows Splinter’s not much a teacher, outside of fighting, outside of what little wisdom pure, bizarre life experience has taught him. He didn't exactly have the most normal childhood either, what with ancestrally determined mystic destiny and all.

School. School is normal. A wider peer group of the same age, knowledge… books and things. Learning. They say you learn something every day; maybe, for his sons, Splinter can swallow a bit of his pride and ensure that to be true.


	5. in session

A day after being ungrounded, it’s agreed to get back to mission “Nab Information on Big Mama” as soon as possible, which means after a day of making sure all the games in the arcade didn’t miss them too much. That day is now, and there’s no more messing around. They’re gonna get this guy good, Raph says as he rallies them all, and get the dirt on that freaky she-spider once and for all. There’s a resounding cheer, they all get up to rush out, and then Mikey backflips into a desk.

They all stop to look at it, certain it wasn’t there before, and then they notice there is in fact three other matching desks lined up next to that one. Taking in further stock of things that definitely weren’t there before, Dr. Bart and Dad stand side by side, in front of an old chalkboard with a big “Welcome to Class!” written across it.

“Ah!” Dr. Bart claps his hands together. “Welcome, you all! Excited for your first day of class?”

“Class?” Raph echoes. Dr. Bart raises a brow, looking down to Splinter, who clears his throat.

“I have been thinking lately,” He says. “I have already trained you in the martial arts, but I know I have somewhat… neglected… teaching you other things. Important things. So I got you a tutor.”

“Humbly put, Mr. Splinter,” That ‘Mr.’ will never not sound weird to Donnie, “Consider today something of a trial run. This is for your benefit, after all, so if there’s anything you need in the way of accommodations to help you, please, don’t hesitate to tell me and--”

“Whoa, hold on,” Leo cuts him off. “Is this for real? We’re really going to start going to class like--”

“Like regular people?” Mikey finishes, a bit softly.

Dr. Bart’s brows fold in sympathy. “My dear boy, you are all regular people. And you are owed the right to education, just like any other young yokai! Now, we’ll start slow, so if you could please take your seats I’ll--”

“Wait, we’re not gonna stop like, doing ninja stuff,” Raph asks Dad. “Are we?”

Splinter laughs. “No, red one! I did not know you liked my training so much. Maybe after your class, we will go over the ninja art of patience and focus, then--”

He is met with a cacophony of groans by all four of them, which makes him snicker a little, obviously predicting the reaction. That injects a sense of normalcy that takes a bit of edge off that Donatello didn’t even realize he had been feeling, and honestly, if ninja patience is the alternative to whatever the Doc’s got in store for them, he thinks he-- as well as his brothers-- would much rather see what a real regular class entails.

“Anything else?” Dr. Bart asks. “No? Excellent. Mr. Splinter, if it’s alright with you, I will take things from here. Unless you’d be interested in joining us.”

Splinter scoffs and holds up a hand. “Nope. Good luck, boys!” And then he’s off the TV room, predictably. Then it’s just them and the Doc.

“Well, we met just the other day, but I’ll reintroduce myself: I am Dr. Bartholomew North, at the Central City University in the Hidden City. Could I have all your names?”

“Uh,” Raph starts. “I’m Raph. That’s Mikey, Leo, and the one with the eyebrows is Donnie.”

“Wonderful. It’s nice to be properly acquainted. Now,” He gestures to the desks. “If you would please, take a seat, any desk you’d like.”

There’s a brief awkward look around as they each shuffle off to a desk and… sit. It’s a little surreal, Donnie thinks, he almost can’t believe this is happening. Aside from the smell of the sewer, the dim lights of the sewer, the surrounding tunnels, of the sewer, and the fact that it’s just the four of them, it’s kind of like the school April goes to… a little. But not. Dr. Bart is erasing his welcome message and writes the word “Science!!” before underlining it. He turns back around.

“Now, I know this is… strange. Truth be told, this is a new experience for me as well. Such a small class… below the college level… in multiple subjects. So-- I thought I would start something more familiar-- though I may be biased.” He taps the board. “Science. Science is the study of the natural world; understanding it, as best we can. The simplest way to understanding the function of science,” He turns and writes something else down. “Is through the scientific method. Now, can anyone tell me what the first step of the scientific method is?”

Silence. Uncomfortable silence. Slowly, unsurely, as though his body is acting on it’s own, Donnie raises his hand. Dr. Bart nods for him to speak. “Um. Observation?”

“Correct! Excellent, Donnie,” Dr. Bartholomew writes observation, then an arrow to the next term. “From there, one concocts a hypothesis; typically an if-- your observation-- then-- a conclusion-- statement. From there, you compose your test-- more on that in a moment-- and from your test results, you analyze…”

Leo makes a  _ psst _ noise, and all of them lean in, trying to be inconspicuous.

“Guys, we can’t sit here all day. We gotta go catch that mole.”

“He’s more of a caterpillar thing,” Mikey says.

“But the Doc will notice if we’re all gone,” Raph argues. “And then Pops’ll flip his lid about us cuttin’ class.”

“I dunno,” Donnie can’t believe what he’s saying, even as he’s saying it. “It wouldn’t kill us to wait an extra day, would it?”

“Ohh-ho, classic Donnie plan,” Leo nods. Huh? What? “You stay here and distract the Doc while we go get more information on Lenny. Thanks for taking one for the team, brother.”

“What? I didn’t say that--” He already knows all this stuff anyways! One of them can stay, the scientific method is a versatile framework and one of them could definitely benefit from maybe retaining some information about it, but not him!

“Dr. Bart!” Leo calls. “Raph, Mikey and me all have to go to the bathroom, right now. For a non-specific amount of time.”

“Hm. That seems normal,” Dr. Bart says. “Go ahead, but try to hurry back! We’re about to discuss the difference between result and causation.”

Leo gives a little faux salute, and then just like that, they’re all gone, leaving him alone at his desk with Dr. Bart. His anger simmers down pretty fast as the quiet atmosphere starts to come pressing down on them both. Dr. Bart coughs.

“So,” He says. “I’m guessing you already know all this.”

“The scientific method? Yeah.”

“A fellow man of science then,” He nods. “What’s your core field of study. No-- let me guess-- technology?”

“Pretty obvious, huh?” Donnie deadpans.

“You could say that,” The Doc crosses his arms and leans against the board. “I prefer biology myself.”

“Biology’s cool,” Donnie says. “Some of it’s kind of like tech.”

“I think so as well,” He says. “He who has dominion over technology has domain over the future, but he who has dominion over the study of life, finds dominion over life itself.”

“Whoa,” Donnie raises his brow at the sudden monologue line. “Did you come up with that yourself?”

“Eh, heard it in a movie once.” He pushes off the board suddenly, like he’s just remembered. “Ah, been meaning to ask-- how were you able to get the resources needed to build you inventions-- they all seem very sophisticated.

“Oh, dumpster diving,” He says. “And sometimes orders off the internet, if it’s something somebody can just push through the sewer grates. Although hauling it back is sometimes a pain, it’s totally worth it, like I found this toaster the other day with the perfect coils--”

And that gets them off track for the rest of the day, excitedly sharing anecdotes and personal projects they’re currently working on. Dr. Bart gets a good laugh out of Donnie’s self-cleaning toothpick idea, and Donnie listens to him talk about the latest collection of dermal fibroblasts he’s studying. They talk methods, hilarious lab accidents, favorite past successes, scientific heroes, all the things that his brothers would, at the best of times, politely nod along too, glad he’s showing some enthusiasm, and at the worst of times, would have nodded off by this point. Apparently Leo was right about this being a good plan, because Dr. Bart doesn’t once ask what’s taking his brothers so long, perfectly content to keep the conversation going over the class.

“You know,” He says suddenly. “I’ve recently started this new project, and I could really use your input on it. It’s a bit out of my usual depth, but I’ve been attempting to combine technology and biology together, and seeing as the first is your area of expertise, I think you’d make a great addition to the project.”

Uh-oh. Suddenly, Donnie thinks back to the last parent-aged adult who had told him such a thing. Fool him once, so on, so forth… “Oh, I don’t know--”

“And I’ll be revealing it to my board as well,” Doc continues, “If it impresses them, you’d be a legend in the science wing of the school! Think of it almost as a scholarship opportunity-- I know that’s a little early to think of such a thing, but it’s never too early to turn your eyes to the future!”

“A scholarship?” Donnie echoes. “Like… Like a chance to actually go to the school? To college?”

“Yes, of course. If you’d want to, of course. It’ll be a heck of experiment anyways,” Dr. Bart puts his hands out, fingers spread. “What do you know about nanomachines.”

“That’s like, in my top five kinds of machines!” Donnie jumps up out of his seat. “Are you serious?”

“I am  _ beyond  _ serious! Please, just think about it for a while. I’m sure your father can make time in your, er… ninja-training schedule… but it’s your decision.” Then he checks his watch, clicks his tongue. “Ah, I’m afraid that’s our class time. I’ve left your father a school supplies list-- really a notebook each and something to write with should be fine-- I think we’ll start mathematics next class.” He starts erasing all his writing off the board. “You can go do-- well, whatever it is young people these days like to do-- wonderful talking with you.”

“Uh, yeah,” Donnie wonders if he should shake his hand or something, but that would probably be weird. Maybe he can still catch up with his brothers. “You too. Bye.”


	6. squealer

Splinter catches Dr. Bartholomew timidly tiptoe in, more than a little awkward, probably to ask him if he can use his mystic doohickey to take him back to the city. The awkwardness makes Splinter take pause, then, “Would you like to stay for a cup of tea?”

Dr. Bart seems surprised, but he says, “Oh, yes, so long as I’m not imposing.”

Splinter grunts and waves his hand in dismissal of the thought, and heads over to the stove, where a plain copper kettle sits atop the burner. April’s, or her mother’s, anyways, courtesy of her letting them borrow it until Splinter can find a more permanent replacement. She promised it would go unnoticed for the meanwhile, too. Apparently her parents are more coffee people. He switches the heat on. “Is oolong alright?”

“Oh, yes, please,” Dr. Bart smiles. “How funny, that’s my favorite.”

“Good taste,” Splinter remarks, smiling a bit himself. It’s been a while since he’s shared the company, made a connection with someone his own age. He thinks the last casual adult conversation he had was with that guy who wanted to literally eat him. Splinter doesn’t have the best luck with cats or yokai, as history would show, but for some reason, he’s got a good feeling about this one. The guy is polite, if nothing else, and not a teen, which also holds more weight than it maybe should as far as ‘pluses for conversation partners’ go. The kettle whistles, and he pours them each a cup, and goes to return to his chair.

Dr. Bart pulls up something to sit more levelly than on the floor, and accepts his cups. “Thank you.” He blows the steam away, takes a sip. “So.”

“Sooo…” Splinter agrees. “How were they?”

“Ah, well,” He snorts into his cup a little. “They ran out not even halfway through the class.”

“What?!”

“Oh, yes. Had a conversation right in front of me, all huddled together, and thought for some reason I wouldn’t be able to hear it? Anyways, I’m not worried,” He takes another sip. “Donnie stuck around. Now he’ll be able to tell them all about what it’s like, create an air of, we’ll say, exclusivity. Should get them to stick around longer next time. See what the fuss is about.”

“That--” He pauses. “That is… actually brilliant. Do you mind if steal it?”

He laughs. “By all means.”

“So, let me guess,” Splinter takes a long sip of his tea. “They left to go do some kind of mission?”

“Is that what they call it? Kids these days,” He shakes his head. “So imaginative.”

* * *

When Donnie does, in fact, catch up with his brothers, he finds that they picked up April along the way. Good thinking on their part, April’s intuition, she’s good at getting information, and she just always adds more fun to any adventure. He stalls the engines of his shell-copter and drops down next to them.

“Alright, everybody, the mission can now officially begin,” He spreads out his arms. “Von Ryan’s on the scene now.”

“Hey, Donnie! Good job keeping the cat in the bag-- er, lair,” Raph greets him.

“I heard you guys are going to school now,” April cuts in. “What’s that all about?”

“It’s just this thing dad came up with out of nowhere,” Leo says. “I wonder what got into him?”

“Yeah,” Donnie agrees, hoping to the great pizza supreme in the sky he doesn’t look too sheepish. “I wonder what totally random chain of events or conversation could make Pops totally and completely randomly think about giving us a teacher or something.”

“School’s not too bad,” April says, patting Leo on the back. “Although a class of four has  _ got  _ to be awkward.”

“I bet Pops won’t stick with it,” Mikey waves his hand dismissively. “Sooner or later the guy’s gotta ask for money, right?”

A resounding murmur of agreement ripples through the group.

“Forgetting about all that,” Raph turns to Donnie. “Donnie, you got a way to track the guy again? We’ve already been all over top side and the mutant pizza place lookin’ for him, still no sign.”

“He probably won’t be back at the spa any time soon after getting chased down,” Mikey adds.

“I mean, I didn’t have time to put a tracker on him before he slipped out the other day,” Donnie says.

“I hate to say it guys,” Leo starts, “But I think we have to go to the source to stop him.”

“What, at the hotel?” Raphael is incredulous. “Won’t that make Big Mama suspicious?”

“Not if we get him before he rats out on us first,” Leo says. “All we have to do is stake out the place again and wait ‘til he gets there.”

“How do we know he hasn’t already tried to rat us out?” Raph asks.

“Easy, obviously he’ll’ve been waiting for the heat to die down. Two days with the coast clear should start to make him feel antsy.”

All solid points, but these stake outs are starting to get exhausting. With any luck, this should be the last one before they can finally get some information out of old Loose-Lips.

And he’s right. It turns out to be the last stake out they’ll need to sit through on this case for a good, long while. There’s only one problem: it’s also the worst one.

They’ve played Truth Or Dare, Never Have I Ever, I Spy, teased April about all the time and texts between her and Sunita lately, used Mikey’s kusari fundo and Leo’s odachi to make the world’s most dangerous paddle ball, and each shown off how many backflips they can do, and the sun is threatening to set any minute now through it all. Donnie’s about to chalk this up to an absolute waste when Mikey gasps and points with a sharp,  _ look _ , at the waddling and nervous form of one Loose Lips Lenny from down below.

“Alright team,” Raph says. “Let’s get in formation.”

One by one, they drop around him, totally surrounding him; why they never did this in the first place, Donnie doesn’t know, but he supposes the finality is thematically appropriate. In an instant, the line of mikey’s kusari fundo has Lenny tied up tight and on the ground, where April leans down and gets right up in his face, master interrogator ready to work.

“Alright Lenny,” April starts, voice calm. “Can I call you Lenny? We just got a few questions we want answered, and then we’ll let you go, easy-peasy, m’kay? But don’t try to worm your way out, or my big friend here is--”

“I’ll talk, I’ll talk I’ll talk, just PLEASE don’t hurt me!” Lenny squeals. Huh. That was easy.

“Okay, buckaroo,” Donnie joins April. “What dirt do you have on Big Mama?”

“I don’t know nothin’,” Lenny trembles. “Big Mama doesn’t let nobody get too close to her. She’s got all kindsa secret rooms she don’t let nobody into, so nobody’s can get nothin’ on her.”

“She’s gotta have something,” April insists. “How’s she get people into the Nexus? What’s with her and Draxum? Hm?”

“I don’t know ‘bout her and the Baron-- or how she gets people to the Nexus, I swear!” For a moment he curls up, looking like a wad of gum as he tries to avoid whatever pummeling he’s anticipating. “Oh! Wait-- wait, I know somethin’? If I tell ya, will you let me go?”

“We’ll think about it,” April says, putting on a pretend, ‘hmm, maybe’ face.

“She’s got this smuggler,” He says. “Shaffer-- or, no-- Chafer! She’s got an operation by the city dump! I bet she’s got all kindsa dirt on the Big M.”

April smiles, and then snaps. Mikey retracts his weapon, leaving Lenny free to go skittering off like his life depends on it.

“The dump? Ugh,” Leo crosses his arms. “Can’t these villains think of any place more original? Or cleaner?”

“Get yourself some nose plugs, Leo,” Raph says. “Tomorrow, we’re goin’ to the dump.”


	7. i had fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this ones a bit shorter ! and so soon after the last chapter, i really wanted a whole chapter about well.. the slow burn that's supposed burning and sort of ended up banging it out much faster than expected ! i hope you'll enjoy either way !

One cup of tea turns into two, turns to three, turns to four and a small meal, as Dr. Bartholomew and Splinter talk the afternoon away. It starts simply enough, Bartholomew asking what it is that Splinter’s watching; Treadmill Scorpion, which he becomes quickly fascinated by. Not hard to see why, Splinter thinks, this show is too amazing not to be easy to onboard people onto. They chat idly during commercial breaks; Splinter about the boys and the nature of their ninja training, Bartholomew about what it’s like to work at the university, an odd-ball student he has in one class or the other, the burden of how small minded his board of directors can be at times. It becomes obvious to Splinter pretty soon how little he has to talk about, most of his time dedicated to the task of fatherhood, ninja training, or keeping up with his programs. When’s the last time he pursued a hobby? Or went out? Sure, he could tell Dr. Bart about Big Mama, his life as Lou Jitsu, his family’s recent triumph over ancient evil-- but he’s barely just met the guy. And there’s something about this, and adult friend, that makes Splinter hold back, lest he somehow scare the guy off.

“A projector’s an odd choice,” Dr. Bart says suddenly, shaking Splinter out of his thoughts. “Wouldn’t a regular television be more convenient?”

Splinter shakes his head. “Doesn’t have the same atmosphere. Especially for movies.”

“Have some original reel, do you?” His interest is obviously piqued. “Are you a collector.”

“Something like that.”

“Oh, you must tell me your favorites.” Dr. Bart smiles. “Someone so concerned with atmosphere must have impeccable taste.”

“Actually,” Splinter perks up under the praise. “I have the best Lou Jitsu collection in the world.”

“Oh,” And ear twitches, flicks back again. “...Is that arthouse?”

“Whuh?”

“It’s just that I’ve never heard of it before?”

“HUH??” Splinter stands up in his seat. “You’ve never heard of the great Lou Jitsu?! I’m-- uh, he-- is, er, was, the greatest action star of all time!”

“Ohh, that explains it,” Dr. Bart nods. “I’m not partial to action movies, you see. More of a science fiction fan.”

“What? Like Jupiter  _ Jerk _ ?”

“Oh, Heaven’s no,” Dr. Bart recoils. “It’s a soulless franchise; there’s no  _ passion _ . They obviously cashed in on the camp of the first movie and churned out  _ engineered _ copies in a sorry attempt at  _ ‘irony _ ’.  _ I  _ appreciate the classics. Like  _ The Loathsome Dr. Lobotomy. _ That’s a movie!”

“Okay, you are forgiven,” Splinter amends. “For now! Until you see for yourself the greatness of Lou Jitsu!”

So Splinter puts on  _ Teriyaki Shakedown _ , a classic, as far as he’s concerned, and they both sit and watch, Splinter once again burying the strange dissonance he imagines most people must feel when watching their younger selves, forever preserved in film, when things are so different from those simpler times. Of course, there’s the fact that he’s now, also, a rat, which admittedly is probably an added, stranger cavat, but the core of the matter remains. Dr. Bart watches intentently, face merely neutral and curious, offering no comments or insight to what he’s thinking. It gets under Splinter’s skin. But why should he care so much? Again, it’s not like their old friends or anything like that; the guy’s just a teacher. But he does care, in a way that makes his fur feel humid and sticky-- usually the only thing that even comes close to getting his hackles raised to this level is his son’s opinions of him-- and while this is not nearly as severe, Splinter thinks that if he does not see some inkling of approval about the whole thing soon, he may explode. What seems to be more like years and less like around two hours later, the credits roll.

“So?” Splinter prompts.

“Hm,” Dr. Bart responds. “Well… it’s a lot to take in all at once. I did like the fight choreography.”

“And?”

“Classic sound design.”

Splinter gestures for him to keep going.

“But, it’s a little overstimulated,” He says. “What with the poor pacing of the movie and most of the editing. To say nothing of the performance of most of the cast-- there’s camp, and then there’s pulling people off the street. However…”

“Yes?”

“I find myself enamoured with the lead actor,” He continues. “I mean-- clearly, he forgot some lines-- but! The passion he put into his performance! Oh, it’s palpable-- you can tell he truly believed in the merit of his art. And that, to me, is worth more than the finest budget or special effects.”

“Sooo… you liked it?” Splinter asks.

“Yes, I suppose I did,” Dr. Bartholomew’s face lights up with a smile. “It was… well, it was fun!”

Splinter is ready to really soak in such shining praise, when he hears the familiar thump of his sons landing, one of them likely having missed the mark. Something about the atmosphere is quickly shattered with their arrival, though Splinter of course isn’t angry; it’s a relief to have them back before too long after sunset, even if such early returns also means them silently kicking their feet and trying to shoot him puppy dog looks in less-than-subtle attempts to get him to let them use the TV.

“Oh. Hey, Dr. Bart,” Raph greets. “We didn’t expect to still see you here.”

“Yes, well-- it’s probably gotten late, hasn’t it?” He raises, shooting an apologetic look to Splinter as he does. “I’m afraid I’ve taken advantage of your hospitality. You must forgive me.”

“Oh, no, that’s alright…”

“It was a delight, Mr. Splinter. I hope we can do something like this again soon.” He gives Splinter a smile, one that’s small and private, meant almost like an inside joke between only the two of them. It’s been a while, a long while, since somebody’s smiled at him in such a way. He’s not embarrassing himself, but he hardly thinks his returned expression is exactly grateful. Dr. Bart turns to the turtles. “Children! Next class will be focused on mathematics. And Donatello,” He turns to conspiratorially to Purple. “Remember what we discussed.” Then he stands up prim and proper, as though waiting for something.

Splinter jolts with realization, “Oh,” He leans against the arm of his chair, pointing to Leonardo. “Blue, could you make a portal for him?”

“Sure thing,” Taking out his sword, he does a quick circle-slice. Everybody waits expectantly until he pops his head in, coming back up with a thumbs up. “It’s good, right spot.”

“Thank you,” Dr. Bart steps in, waving his goodbyes. “Goodbye, all!” And then the portal evaporates, and it’s just him and his sons standing in the TV room.

Splinter gets ready to defend his TV usage against the boys, already switching from video back to cable, but as he looks back he notices they’ve already scuttled off to the other atrium where they keep the half-pipe. They’ve really been doing that a lot lately, sneaking, a bit more organized and insistent and in a hurry than usual. Splinter should maybe really ask about that, get to the bottom of what’s gotten them so worked up lately. After all, the last cause for all this sneaking and coordination had been because of Draxum and Big Mama, it’s no good to leave secrets unchecked for so long.

The theme song for his show starts back up.Well, if they haven’t caused too much harm so far, whatever new mission the boys are on, it’s probably handled well enough to endure a programming block of Treadmill Scorpion.


	8. tactical friendship

They smelled the spot before they saw it, a bad sign as far as indicators for how an operation was about to go in Donnie’s book. Living in the sewer should have well prepared him for something like a hot air wafting down from the dump, but at least they had a few pine-scented air fresheners hung around to disperse the smell. There was no such luxury here, rank smell in full force. What was worse was that Donnie found himself getting used to it pretty quickly, and knew that his brother would be as well. April was not so lucky-- she was still overwhelmed from time to time by the stench of raw sewage when it was particularly hot.

“Need to sit this one out?” Leo asked her as they got closer.

“No,” April said, eyes watering, voice nasally from where she pinched her nose. “I got this, just so long as I don’t breathe with my mouth open.”

Donnie was a bit taken aback by the place. The front was a simple little building, he would’ve thought it was some kind of mobile trailer if it weren’t too big to move. Any cinder blocks that might’ve rested under the building were instead replaced by rather beaten up, but still sturdy, stones carved into round lion’s paws. There was a neon open sign and two tacky pink plastic flamingos out in front of the rather rickety three-stair case leading up to the shuttered door.

Behind the building was a fenced-in area, piles of junk stacked up, anything from garden statues to spare parts to sealed crates, strange glowing lights peeking out from the cracks in the wood, bright enough to notice in the light of day. It would kind of be a dump, if the actual dump weren’t a block or two away. Raph was the one to come up to the door and knock on it carefully, only jumping back a little bit in surprise when a slitted red eye came poking in between the lines of the shutters. In a flash it was gone, followed shortly afterwards by the sound of many locks clicking undone.

“Whaddya want?” A raspy voice came, same red eye poking out the crack of the door.

“Uhh… we’re to, uh--”

“Buy!” Mikey said.

“Sell!” Said Leo at the same time.

“Buy and sell,” Raph amended. “Can we come in?”

The figure in the door looked them up and down for a moment. “Aren’t you all a bit young to be down here…”

“No,” Raph argued. “We’re… we’re just…”

“Aspiring hoodlums!” Donnie cut in. “We love crime.”

“Oh yeah,” Leo agreed, “ _Totally_ love crime. All about it.”

“Mmn,” The figured huffed, opening the door, letting a sliver of light into the darkened room. “Through here, meet me out back.”

In single-file, they followed the owner out to the back. They became much easier to make out in the full clearing; some kind of bug yokai, two sets of segmented arms, covered in bright shiny carapace, vibrant tufts of orange-red hair poking out from here and there. Donnie thought for a moment they might be a cockroach, shooting a nervous glance at Raph, but upon closer inspection to things like antenna, the segment of their jaw, their clawed hands, they were some more generic beetle. The most terrifying and skin-crawling thing about them was the garish color of their hawaiian shirt, Donnie thought.

“So,” The leaned against part of the fence, two sets of arms crossing each other. “What’re you lookin’ to buy? And what’s this you got to sell me? Better not waste my time, there’s a Golden Girls marathon on in two hours.”

“Information!” April said, cutting in front of all of them, ready to once again work her magic. The beetle’s eyes all but bulged out of their head when they saw her, having been shielded before by not only Raph’s large form, but three other turtles.

“Augh!” They shot up, arms drawn up to defend them. “You brought a human here? Are you all crazy?”

Suddenly, a new voice joined in. “Auntie!” Another beetle yokai rushed towards them, not nearly as hairy, and much younger than the one in front of them. He was huge-- taller than Raph-- with simple, dull, mottled blac-and-white carapace. Two of his arms were occupied with a huge box. “What happened! I heard you yell-- whoa!” He stopped dead in his tracks, also staring wide eyed at April. “Ohmygosh, is that--”

“Up-bup-buh, hey!” The smaller beetle forgot their fear, sliding in front of their nephew. “Stay back, Joey. Your ma will kill me if she finds out I let you get this close to a human!”

“Aw, but Auntie! She’s so… poofy,” Joey said. “And she got other yokai with her. Maybe she’s a friendly human.”

“Poofy?” April echoed, cutting in.

“She is with us,” Raph assured, holding up his hands. “Let’s get back to business, okay? Crime, remember?”

The beetle-- who Donnie had to assume by now was this ‘Chafer’ Lenny had mentioned-- scowled, using a hand to gentle push their nephew back a few feet. “You want information, huh? Well that costs extra. I don’t think all your allowances combined can afford that, so why don’t you kids run along home, huh? I only handle serious offers.”

“We can pay up,” Mikey offered. “We got these!” He whipped out a handful of small, shining-- oh, unicorns. Those were tiny unicorns.

This piqued Chafer’s interest somewhat. “Not a bad try… what information are lookin’ for, exactly?”

“What dirt do you have on a big M-to-the A-M-A?” Leo asked.

“Pfft! Ha!” Chafer started cracking up, a squeaking, snorting laugh, shortly and timidly joined in by her nephew in simple little huffs. “You kids are too much! Are you serious? Not all the money in the world’s gonna get me to rat out _the_ biggest crime boss in the Hidden City! I don’t know about you kids, but I like my kneecaps the way they are-- un-busted. Now are you gonna deal with me for real, or are you gonna get out of my seta?”

“What if we have info on other bosses?” Mikey objected.

“Or the human world?” April added.

“Or--” Leo stopped. “No, that’s about what we got.”

“Why do you think Big Mama deals with me so much? As if you could tell me something I don’t know about those second rates,” Chafer turned to April, unimpressed. “And the only Yokai who care about the surface world outside of where to avoid it are freak extremists or tourists. But good try, Poofy.” They shook their head. “Honestly, this is way too ambitious for ‘aspiring hoodlums’. Don’t you all have parents? Save them the heartache, huh? Stay in school and get a real job someday,” They gestured to Joey behind them. “Don’t end up like my boy Joey over here.”

“Yeah!” Joey chimed in cheerily.

“Go on, get,” Chafer said as they turned back to the building, already heading back up the creaking stairs. “Joey, if they don’t leave in the next fifteen minutes, chuck ‘em over the fence.”

“Okay, Auntie!” He turned back to them all after the door to the main building shut. “Sorry, guys, nothing personal. You can look at some stuff until then! Oh, and, uh,” He looked down to his feet, a little embarrassed. “Can you tell me when it’s been fifteen minutes? I’m not super good at telling time.”

They all looked at each other. April got a look on her face, the sort of raise in her brow that denoted she had a plan cooking up. “Sure, big guy. Hey, can I ask you something, though?”

“Sure! Wait, um. No. Only if you give me something,” Joey amended. “Auntie says I should never give anybody anything for free.”

“How about our names? That’s like information, right?”

Joey thought about it for a moment, perhaps a big longer than he should’ve. “Yeah, that makes sense!”

“April O’Neal!” April used her thumb to point to herself. “Pleased to meet ya! These are my bros, the red one’s Raph, baby blue over there’s Leo, purple’s Donnie, and the little guy’s Mikey.”

“Oh, hi! I’m Joey,” Another embarrassed look overcame his face. “Oh, wait, you already knew that.”

“Hey, no problem! So, ‘bout that question-- you seen Big Mama down here yourself?”

“Oh, yeah! Not a lot though, usually Auntie goes down to the Hidden City to deal with her by themselves, or to that hotel she’s got. I guess that hotel a lot, ‘cuz they always dress up real fancy before she meets them. But she’s nice! Kinda weird though, but nice. She offered me a job at her hotel once, but Auntie wanted me to stay here and help out instead.”

“Seems like a pretty good set up,” April nodded.

“Oh, yeah, I love it! Sometimes it can be boring, but we get all the best stuff down here, from the human city and the yokai one! Auntie usually lets me keep cool stuff we can’t get rid of, like, ooh-- like this!” After fumbling around in his pockets for a moment, Joey produced a keyring, not connected to any keys or similar items, but did have a variety of bright novelty keychains, from beaded lizards to cartoon characters, to a laser pointer he flicked on and off. “Cool, right?”

“Whoa!” Mikey pipped up from his spot. “Bead animals? Retro, man!”

“Thanks!”

“I bet you make tons of friends on the job,” April continued.

Joey’s expression deflated. “Oh, um. Not really.” He kicked at some loose dirt under him. “I don’t really get to meet anybody my age, or go down to the Hidden City much, either… ever since I dropped out of school, my parents say I gotta work, so Auntie lets me come here and help a lot…”

“Well, we could be friends.”

That immediately got his attention, perking right up. “R-- Really? You’re not just saying that?”

“Yeah, really! Right guys?” A resounding murmur rose from the four of them.

For a minute, Donnie actually felt pretty guilty. Big Mama was a big league problem, but Donnie felt bad for bold-faced lying to the guy about being his friend. His guilt was gradually assuage; going off of past occasions, these things always ended up turning to true friendship usually before they even left the area, the example of Todd coming to mind. Joey seemed older than all of them by a few years, and he also seemed pretty much like a dunce, but nice, genuine, and pretty enthusiastic to hang out with them in even this limited capacity before he was supposed to throw them over a fence. Sometimes dumb and kind were enough, Donnie had found. And more allies-- more friends-- were always a good thing.

“Okay!” Joey beamed. “Oh, we should definitely hang out-- um, not right now though, ‘cuz I’m supposed to throw you guys out. But soon! My aunt’s gonna be gone on Friday, I think-- you guys can come over! We can root through the junk!”

“I do like junk rooting,” Donnie mumbled.

“It’s a date!” April agreed. “See you then, Joey!”

Even with plans made, he did still end up hefting them over the fence, but more in aid than actually, literally tossing them. This wasn’t the direction Donnie saw the mission going, but he could hardly mind it. Even with April, even with Todd, even most recently with Bartholomew, it was still strange to make friends-- living isolated under the sewer for a time really made you appreciate the opportunity to meet new people, get to know them. It’s just as he had thought-- barely over the fence, and the friendship had already gone from tactical to genuine.


	9. it's just casual

Splinter gives himself a final once-over in the mirror. Hair brushed, whisker’s free of food, Special Occasion’s robe only kind of wrinkled but free of stains and loose thread. He licks the pad of his thumb and smooths it over his right eyebrow, striking a few poses in the mirror. It’s hard to see his movie star looks translated onto the image of, well, a little rat man, but he’s still got it, if he says so himself. Not that he should be thinking about that so much-- on the other hand, best face forward, dress to impress, yadda yadda, ect ect…

The lair is in good shape, too. It’s not horribly messy, just lived in-- Splinter doesn’t really think anybody has the right to judge his living space, seeing as it’s literally in the sewers. The TV room has his chair, and a small table lined with snacks; mostly from his sons’ stockpile, but it’s fine, he can reimburse them later. Earlier he had considered a small plate of onigiri, but cooking anything, even something so simple, would send the wrong vibe. This is simply a casual meeting, between two casually acquainted adults, and nothing more. So why is he so full of restless, nervous energy?

It’s been a while, he figures, that must be why. The last casual hang out with someone his own age had been, well… Big Mama. The idea stings for a moment before he quickly brushes it away and out of his mind; he’s just been busy with things, like escaping the lab of an evil warrior scientist, being a rat, being a father and a rat, unloading his secrets to his sons as they fight an ancient, unbeatable evil… he could’ve gotten out there and made friends, if he wanted to. He still could, if this goes wrong. So there is _no_ reason to be so nervous about a simple, casual, movie marathon to turn an acquaintance into a friend.

Splinter honestly is still a little surprised he’s managed to coordinate this, mostly just in getting Bartholomew to settle on a date and time. The guy was so clearly a workaholic that sometimes Splinter felt his back give just looking at him, the way his posture was so poised and upright, he honestly thought the answer would’ve been a very polite “no”, on the account of being far too busy. But then he actually said yes! And now Splinter has been bustling around actually getting ready for company; it feels like the last time he’d done such a thing was when the boys had told him April was coming over for some sort of playdate, far before everyone had just sort of passively decided she was part of the family now.

This fretting over hospitality and being presented must be some muted remnant of his time with his family, before he’d run off to America, locked deep in the back of his brain. _Are you focused, Yoshi?_ It nags. _Did you do it right this time?_

Then there’s a soft thump, almost jolting Splinter out of his whiskers, as Dr. Bartholomew descends to the ground. Landing on his feet, of course.

“Such a steep climb,” He says, brushing off his front, absently checking for sewer gunk.

“Keeps the neighbors from bothering to ask for a cup of sugar,” Splinter offers up, noticing immediately that the _Doctor_ Bartholomew has decided to lower himself down to just Bartholomew tonight. Still in a dark sweater and crisp pants, his pristenly shiny shoes have been replaced by scuffed boots, tweed jacket with the stupid little elbow patches swapped in for a tan biker’s jacket. In suede. _Suede!_

Where does he get off, Splinter thinks for a minute, dressing in such a cool get up for something like a general movie night.

“You bike?” Splinter asks, hoping against hope that Bartholomew will tell him no, give him some ridiculously dorky answer that will somehow counteract the power of fine-fitting suede.

“Oh,” Bartholomew looks down at himself, and at least has the consideration to look somewhat humbled. He starts pulling off the jacket. “I’m not into the-- counterculture, or anything. It’s just a more effective way of getting around the city.”

Splinter mumbles something that might be an agreement, gestures vaguely to a spot for him to put his stupid jacket on. He regrets not wearing his best platforms suddenly, but just as quickly assuages the thought. This is still just a simple, casual, adult meeting of two people getting to know each other slightly better. There’s absolutely no need to _impress_ Bartholomew; at least, not with any exerting any conscious effort to. Barring his sons, Splinter is the most impressive guy he knows. This guy is lucky to be his casual-adult-acquaintance-and-soon-to-be-friend. He goes to get the projector up and running while Bartholomew sets his small stack of DVDs down on the table.

“Guest gets first choice,” He says, gesturing to his own stack of DVDs.

Bartholomew shifts through them. “ _Little Jacob’s Ladder_ , _Egg Drop Kick_ , _Soba Showdown_ … all very promising.”

He selects _Little Jacob’s Ladder_ , handing it off and settling himself down comfortably in the chair next to Splinter’s. The FBI copyright warning is going off when he leans over and shifts against the arm rest.

“Can I ask, what got you into these movies?” He asks. “They seem a little… niche.”

Splinter was not prepared for that, and even if Bartholomew would be willing to accept he was the main actor, he knows from experience how egotistical some people find that answer to be. “I saw the first one and, er. What’s not to like?”

“Looking for some inspiration as a martial artist?”

Splinter just has to snort a laugh. “You could say that.”

He remains respectfully quiet throughout the run of the movie, and Splinter debates whether or not if he should get into all the trivia he knows, if that would be suspicious or not, or just annoying. The boys are more interested now than they used to be, so long as he doesn’t do it while the movie’s rolling. The longer Bartholomew just watches with almost _too much_ attention, the more Splinter is looking to inject-- something, some sort of barrier of energy, some fun most of all.

“Did you know,” He starts, casually, like it just came to his mind and he hasn’t been digging around for the right fact to throw out. “The lead actor? He did all his own stunts.”

“Really?” Bartholomew doesn’t look away, but his ear twitches in interest. “Seems dangerous. I can respect that, though. If you have the talent, you might as well show it off.”

“Right?” That’s a little better, he thinks, relaxing.

From there Bartholomew still doesn’t talk much, but he’ll comment every once in a while on something he noticed, huff a laugh at a one liner that he actually found funny, criticize the poor planning of the antagonist. It’s when Lou Jitsu finds himself in the ladder factory, however, that Bartholomew really hones in, even going as far as to sit up a little straighter as the fight goes on.

“You said he does his own stunts?” He says suddenly. “He did all of this himself?”

“Pretty cool, right?”

“It is sort of amazing,” He agrees. “What a unique fight scene. I would have never expected the ladder factory to-- well, actually be relevant, in a plot sense.”

Lou forgets the bad guy, says his final line, is swooned over by an extra or two, and then the credits fade in. Bartholomew perks up with excitement as he grabs his own DVDs before Splinter can lunge over and look through them, holding them all up proudly.

“Alright-- they’re a far cry from a Lou Jitsu movie, I must admit, but I brought some personal favorites.” He fans them out like a deck of cards. “Since we’re sharing favorite actors, I brought some Victor Prince classics. There’s the _Loathsome Doctor Lobotomy_ , like I mentioned before, but then there’s _Terror of the Wax Museum_ , and-- well, this one’s an anthology film of short story adaptations, but they’re all marvelously spine-chilling, from Poe I believe, and--”

“The first one you said, I pick the first one,” Splinter cut in, only to stop Bartholomew from possibly overheating from excitement.

“Oh, yes! Wonderful choice.” He wasted no time putting the disc in, practically bouncing in his seat as the first sting of music came crackling through.

It turned out Splinter’s worry of annoying Bartholomew with mid-movie trivia was all for nothing, because he was more than happy to lean over the armrest of Splinter’s chair and whisper about this or that, a lighting choice he liked, the appreciation of a costume here or there, an acting choice he loved, even sometimes cutting himself off with an “Oh, this is the best part!” or “Oh, watch this!” as a tense scene or dramatic reveal came up. Honestly, Splinter found the film a little cheesy, but Bartholomew’s excitement was a bit infectious, and whatever the movie lacked it quickly made up for in style and a certain kind of _oomph_ , which he could definitely appreciate. And then it was over, and Bartholomew’s full gaze was focused on Splinter.

“So? How did you like it?”

“You were right, it was no Lou Jitsu,” He said, shooting Bartholomew a wide grin when the other froze for a moment. “But it was not too bad!”

Bartholomew smiled back, clearly excited for such an answer. “I have to know, what was your favorite part?”

He thought on it for a moment. “That scene with the crazy Doctor dancing in his lair was kind of cool.”

“That’s my favorite too!” Bartholomew clasped his hands together in joy. “Oh, the mise en scene is just impeccable-- the sound, the texture of the shot, the surreal air-- just brilliant!”

“What got you so into this guy anyway?” Splinter asked, turning the doctor’s previous question back on him. “He’s human, probably not very popular in the Mystic City.”

“Well-- as a younger man, there was somewhere you could go for… surface goods. And the film was just so transformative, and-- and--” A bit of a blush rose to Bartholomew’s cheeks. “I might’ve… had a small crush on the actor. Just slightly.”

“Really?” Splinter looked at the lead actor on the DVD cover, turning it back around. “Him?”

“Listen, it was college, I had moved away from home, I was-- learning things about myself.”

“What, did you have a goth phase, too?”

Bartholomew’s blush grew. “I was in my 20s! We all did things.”

Splinter did laugh at that, mostly because he was right, but he heard Bartholomew chuckling along quietly.

From there, movie night was much less quiet. They broke into the snacks, and Bartholomew was now much more talkative during the Lou Jitsu films, along with Splinter, who let all kinds of movie trivia fly-- always to an equally enthusiastic reception. Bartholomew made a few jokes over the Lou Jitsu movies, but Splinter couldn’t even mind-- especially since he laughed at all the ones Splinter made over his own favorite movies, it was less out of any critique or malice and out of more just… joking around. It was fun, and it was easy, Splinter found, letting himself relax and messing around, chatting casually and making fun of mustache-twirling villains and bad horror movie practical effects. Even listening to Bartholomew list off his amatuer film-critique points about “screen economy” and “semiotics” was refreshing. The guy was really passionate about this stuff.

“If you like movies so much, why are you a science teacher?”

“Oh, well-- it was hard to choose, but I’m afraid biochemistry is my one true love. It would’ve been nice, though,” He all but sighs, reminiscent. “To have worked on a film set, maybe written a script of my own. It would have been fun.”

“It is,” Splinter said, without thinking.

This caught Bartholomew’s attention immediately. “Mr. Splinter, you worked on a movie set? You have to tell me all about it! How did you not bring this up sooner! What film?”

“Ah, uh-- I was just-- an extra!” He bluffed. “And just one time. And it wasn’t even finished, we ran out of money, and the director… died. Of sadness.”

“Oh.” Bart frowned. “That’s a shame. Well, I suppose it was lucky you got all that experience while you could.”

“Oh, yeah. Great while it lasted.” Not a lie, he reflects. “But I’ve got a pretty sweet set up here.”

Bart’s smile returns. “I admire that,” He says. “Your optimism. It’s very brave of you and your family to live on the surface-- you seem to have adjusted well.”

“Uh, okay?” He says. “What-- what do you mean by that?”

“Oh, nothing, I--! I only mean to say, I know many are looking for places above the city to stay, I can certainly see why… but without any cloaking materials, it-- I mean, doesn’t it ever scare you? For your sons’ sake, if not your own.”

“No, not for myself,” He says, and it’s true. After the Battle Nexus, after Draxum, after the Shredder-- Splinter doesn’t think anything will ever scare him as truly ever again, thinking his sons had been captured in the clutches of an enemy willing to do who knows what to them. Up against something Splinter had failed to prepare himself for, let alone his sons. “Parenting is scary enough, the city doesn’t scare me.”

Bartholomew’s face softens. “I see. Well, with a father such as yourself, your children have nothing to fear.”

“Um. Thank you.” Splinter rubs the back of his neck, moment a little too genuine for him to know what to do. He tries to divert. “So-- you don’t come up to New York much, do you?”

“Oh,” Bartholomew flattens his ears, looks away. “No, just, only coming here, so far.”

“What?” Splinter sits up straight. “You mean you’ve only seen the sewers? That’s your whole tour of New York? That’s barely better than only seeing Jersey.”

“It’s alright, your sewers are very nice. Atmospheric. I’ve almost gotten completely used to the smell.”

“No, I cannot accept this,” Now he stands, hands sternly behind his back. “You need a night out on the town.”

“Mr. Splinter, that’s very generous of you, but really-- I, I don’t even have a cloaking artifact or anything--”

“So? Neither do I. Just leave everything to me, I’ll make it a real wild night!” He coughs a little. “And stop calling me ‘Mr’. You’re making me feel old.”

“Well… if you insist… Splinter,” Bartholomew’s mouth quirks, unsure still, but he can see the quiet excitement in his expression at the though of going out on the surface. “I’m afraid I’ll be busy for most of the week-- ah, does Friday work for you?”

“Sure,” Splinter agrees. “It’s a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you can name the actor and the movies bartholomew brought are all based off, you get One Hundred Thousand Canadian U.S. Dollars


	10. invention interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM BAAAACK.....  
> sorry about the long unexpected absence ! im sure you can tell from looking at my other works i have some trouble keeping up with multichapter fics for the most part, but with the rottmnt hiatus ending and uh... other... Extenuating circumstances that im sure u know about, ive gotten back into writing this fic and im gonna try to take it as far as i can !!  
> so if u stayed with this fic through the sporadic updating schedule and everything, thank you so much !! and always, if you like the fic, please consider giving a kudos and a comment !!  
> (also, slight disclaimer, since we're finally getting into the weird science as promised in the tags: i have no idea what im talking about, ever.)
> 
> OK enough of all that !! hope u enjoy !

Friday seemed all at once forever away and way too imminent. There wasn’t really much to plot out, really; as far as the plan went, they’d agreed they would snoop around Chafer’s place while Joey was hosting, preferably with his help-- though Donnie doubted he would need much convincing in that regard-- and with the vaguest idea of a blue print sorted out, his brothers were perfectly content to carry on normally until then. Donnie couldn’t help the slight nervous buzz he’d been feeling, though. This is why diving headfirst into missions as soon as an opportunity presented itself wasn’t so bad, he figured. No time to get cold feet.

Luckily for him, he had the perfect excuse to throw himself into his favorite pre-mission jitters cure: inventing.

He’d taken up the Doc's offer to help with that personal project afterall. While he could kind of see what Dad was going for with this whole personal tutor thing, he doubted the informalness of it would hold up as real homeschooling, and thus something he could put on his transcripts. But from what TV-- and April-- told him about college prep, where actual academic success, privilege, exploitable skills in sports, and mostly money failed, networking was the way to go. And besides all of that, it would still be exciting to collab with another scientist, in a real lab, with materials and equipment that hadn’t been fished out of a junkyard.

He was a bit surprised to see the lab when he walked into it.

First, of course, he was very jealous of the size of the space-- it was hard not to be, when working out of a sewer atrium. Instead of the pristine, near-featureless white space he thought a more “formal” scientist might be working out of, it was closer to what Donnie had seen in old movies. Despite the fluorescent lighting bearing down, the lighting was… atmospheric, if he was being generous about it, looking above at one of the lights flickering in a poor, fuzzy attempt to stay shining. There was a board in the middle of one of the walls, barely-legible scribblings filling it and spilling into each other, a number of different-colored sticky notes hastily plastered all over it. There were various diagrams on the walls, some of which Donnie could tell were home-drawn, cabinets and shelves filled with different bits of equipment, containers, and a curio here or there that he maybe would’ve thought was cheesy if he weren’t actually interested in them, and a number of tables overflowing with papers, jars of preserved specimens, and what he was pretty sure were old containers of take out. And there, at the only relatively clear table in the center of the lab, was Doctor Bart, dressed in his lab coat and black gloves, goggles resting on his forehead. He pushed up and away from the microscope he’d been peering into when he heard Donnie come in.

“Donatello! Welcome, welcome,” He moved away from the table to meet Donnie at the doorway. “Are you excited for your first day on the project?”

“Yeah,” Donnie said, still glancing around the room. “Is this really the lab that the college uses?”

“Hah! No, no no no,” He shook his head, patting Donnie on the shoulder. “This is a personal space I’ve rented out for my work. Is it  _ technically _ regulation? No. But look at it,” He waved an arm out, encompassing the lab. “So much more stimulating than that oppressive, janitor’s closet of a lab on campus. Can’t you just smell the inspiration?”

“I think so,” He allows himself a sniff. “Kinda smells like old chinese food.”

“Inspiration comes in many forms,” He gives Donnie’s shoulder a final pat. “Now! I should have a spare lab coat for you somewhere around here…”

That alone gives Donnie enough giddiness to completely forget the smell of inspiration lingering in the lab. Really, it doesn’t bother him that Bartholomew has a home-brew lab of sorts-- that’s basically what Donnie has himself, anyways-- and there’s still plenty of equipment he can’t wait to get his hands on regardless. And his own lab coat! He’s always wanted his own lab coat.

He gets his own lab coat, and a pair of gloves-- obviously not made for the three-fingered, but he can make it work-- and wastes no time getting suited up, striding up to the Doctor’s side in a way that  _ definitely  _ does come off as hopelessly jazzed to be all dressed up like a real scientist.

“Sooo, see you got the ‘bio’ element,” Donnie gestures to the microscope. “Where do the nanobots come in? And how soon can I start making them? Because I’ve got some old blueprints I’ve been thinking about rehashing, after scaling them down obviously, but if we need a larger model first I can totally--”

Dr. Bart puts a hand up to stop him, but he’s smiling. “While I love the enthusiasm, I think you should know what the project actually  _ is  _ first.”

“Oh, right. I was just about to ask that.”

Dr. Bart steps away from his microscope, motions for Donnie to take his place in looking at what’s on the other end of the lense. He does so, watching a collection of cells jerkily move around. Probably those fibroblasts Dr. Bart had mentioned, way back when he first offered to bring Donnie onto the project.

“I’ve been synthesizing specialized cell cultures,” He explains. “Like the one you’re looking at right now. Mostly tweaking their regenerative properties, their ability to form matrices, that sort of thing. With the combination of nanobots, designed to-- coordinate, let’s say-- these abilities, keep them from growing too fast or erratically, well-- I think they could do a lot of good.”

Donnie thinks maybe the overall goal is a little vague, but he can’t deny the idea is cool, his brain already going a mile a minute, hands itching to start designing and tinkering. “That would be a really complicated system,” He says. “Really refined processors, a lot of subroutines, probably something to keep all the nanobots working with each other--”

“My thoughts exactly!” Dr Bart, clearly excited. “Of course, the first step is to start small--”

“You’d have to start with a general design--”

“Make sure they’re compatible with the cells--”

“Test them after they’ve synced up--”

Bartholomew holds his hands up. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Focus on the design-- all the information I’ve recorded about my process with the cells are at your disposal, as well as my equipment.” Clasping a hand on Donnie’s shoulder, he smiles. “And please, don’t be afraid to tell me if you get overwhelmed. We only succeed if we work as a team, afterall.”

The gesture, as well as the words, catch Donnie off a bit. “Well-- I’d probably be less overwhelmed if I could try out all the stuff in the lab… y’know. To get familiar with it.”

“Oh, of course,” Dr. Bart’s tone lets Donnie know that he knows exactly what he’s trying to do, but is obviously just as happy to show off the stuff in the lab as much as Donnie is to get a chance to play with it. “Want to go fire up the centrifuge?”

He’s starting to think this might end up being the best day of his life.


End file.
